Boondock Sarah
by Gamer-Alexis
Summary: Sarah MacManus, little sister of the Saints, and how she managed to keep up with them through fighting the mafia. (parallel to Snapshots, but not required.) AU (Alternate Reality actually), OC, no slash, spoilers for movies, M for language.
1. Prologue

Sarah MacManus was an accident. She wasn't planned for or expected; just the result of the last night before Noah MacManus left home. Despite this, she was not unwanted. Annabelle MacManus knew that Sarah would be the last child she would ever have, but she couldn't ask for a better daughter. Her three-year-old twin boys (Connor and Murphy) stared at Sarah with wide eyes when she was brought back from the hospital.

"This is your baby sister," Annabelle said, sitting down with the tiny bundle. "You boys are her big brothers; that means you have to take care of her."

"Yes, Momma," the boys nodded fervently.

Sarah looked so much different than her brothers. The boys had Annabelle's blue eyes and Sarah inherited her father's chocolate brown. Connor's hair was light brown and grew all over the place and Murphy's hair was darker, growing in a much tamer manner than his twin's. Sarah had hair that grew in massive curls all over the place, a mix of all kinds of brown.

At six years of age, the boys had proved it was their job to take care of their baby sister. Sarah was three years old and tottering about but she never once fell. Connor and Murphy were always there to catch her.

The three of them were inseparable. On her first day of school, only six years old, Sarah tried to follow her brothers into their school and threw a huge temper tantrum when she found out she couldn't go to the same school with them. So everyday, Connor and Murphy walked Sarah to her school in the morning. They picked her up and walked her home every day and jumped the fence between their schools to play with her during recess.

Then the boys graduated to middle school. Sarah was only nine years old when her brothers left to go to a school three blocks away. They still walked her to school and picked her up afterwards, but she was alone during recess for the first time. It took the other students a year before the realized what this meant.

At ten years old, Sarah came home crying, her lip split and a bruise on her shoulder. Connor and Murphy skipped the next day of school and scared off any bullies who dared to harm their baby sister. Sarah's school life that year and the year after were bleak at best. She wanted nothing more than to turn twelve and go to middle school with her brothers. But that's when they went to high school and left her alone again.

It was three years of loneliness, something a young girl shouldn't have to go through. She wasn't bullied this time around though. On her first day of school, one of her old bullies from elementary decided to bring back old habits. He didn't get very far.

Sarah was in detention for a week. Ma was disappointed. Connor and Murphy were proud and took her to a movie.

Connor and Murphy weren't originally planning to graduate from high school. They knew that their lives were destined elsewhere and any job they would need wouldn't need a high school diploma. The only reason they even bothered staying was so Sarah's first year wouldn't be her last.

They grew a reputation for themselves in high school. The MacManus siblings. You mess with one; the other two will be on you in a blink of an eye. Boys learned not to mess with Sarah, even if she was one of the prettier girls. They learned even quicker not to insult her brothers where she could hear. Sure, the twins protected Sarah as only older brothers can; but Sarah was just as protective of them.

As soon as Sarah graduated, Connor and Murphy packed up their bags and the three of them moved to America. Ma was not happy at all, but she knew that her children needed to be somewhere new and fresh; and she knew they wouldn't go without each other.

They quickly made a name for themselves in Boston's Irish community. In only a few short years, they were the MacManus siblings once again. It was well known among friends and neighbors that the three of them were a package deal. The meat-packaging plant hired them right off, needed a few more workers, especially workers with a sense of humor. When the boss tried to move Sarah to the offices, claiming her pretty face would help the company, all three of them made it very clear that Sarah was not going anywhere.

They met Rocco their first week. It wasn't the greatest of meetings, considering. The three were just getting into familiar terms with the bartender at McGinty's when he walked in. He sidled right up next to Sarah, put on what he assumed to be a charming smile, and began to talk.

"You must be new here cause I never forget a pretty face like that," he smirked. "The name's Rocco, David Della Rocco. I don't wanna be bragging or nothing but I'm pretty big with the Italians in charge of this area. Work for Poppa Joe himself, if you know what I'm saying."

Connor and Murphy, on the other end of the bar, were stifling laughter and trying to drink their beer with straight faces. Sarah glared at them and smiled at Rocco, flipping back her mass of curly hair.

"Well, Rocco," she started, "as it turns out, I _am_ new. Not new enough to fall for that load of shit you just threw on me."

"Come on," Rocco leaned a bit closer. "Think of all the places I could get you, I mean, I'm pretty big with Poppa Joe. I could getcha anything you want."

"Can you get outta my face?" Sarah snapped. "Why not find some other chick around the streets. Do something for them, eh?"

"Oh, but I like you," Rocco said gently. He put a hand on her wrist, fingers digging tightly.

"Let go," Sarah said softly, leaning a bit closer.

"Only if you come with me."

"Fuck you."

His grip on her wrist tightened and he began to drag her to the door, "Poppa Joe asked for a girl with a fuck-you attitude and I got him one. Now you're coming with me or there'll be trouble."

Sarah threw a demanding look at her brothers. How dare they sit there and laugh when she needed their help! They nodded, set their beer glasses on the table, and walked behind Rocco, one hand on each shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going?" Connor asked.

"None of your fucking business," Rocco snapped.

"Actually, it's very much our business," Murphy tightened his grip, "because you're dragging off our little sister; and we can't stand that, now can we, Connor?"

"Nope," Connor agreed.

"These are your brothers?" Rocco looked at Sarah. "Calling in backup?"

"Not really," Sarah shrugged. "I just need someone to hold you."

Rocco looked like he was about to say some other scathing remark, but he never got the chance. Sarah slammed her knee into his gut and he doubled over in pain. Connor and Murphy took a hold of his hair and pulled him back up straight.

"So who's Poppa Joe?" Sarah asked. "Since you're so buddy-buddy with him, I'm sure you can spare a bit of information for the new girl in town."

"Everyone knows who Poppa Joe is," Rocco grunted. "He's the head of the Yakavetta family. Mob boss of Boston. Been working for him since high school."

"What does he want with me?"

"Needs a pretty girl to get on the inside," Rocco said. "That was my job, okay? Just find him a fucking girl who can turn heads and kill men."

"And you were gonna take our sister?" Murphy said.

"Look, can we take this outside guys?" Rocco glanced around the bar. "We're getting strange looks from everyone."

Connor and Murphy dragged him outside and Sarah went back to the bar. She picked up both beers left behind by Connor and Murphy, downed them both, and waved to Doc the bartender as she followed her brothers outside.

Despite their heated first meeting, Rocco soon put himself right into their lives. In just a few months, the four of them were thick as thieves. They were always up for a night at the bar, always welcomed by Doc no matter what time of day. Rocco kept them informed about what was happening in the realm of the mafia. It was a good, easy friendship. It was something that none of the MacManus's ever had growing up.

Before any of them knew it, six years had passed since they first arrived in Boston.

* * *

_If you've read Snapshots, then a lot of this might sound familiar (maybe with a few discrepancies, my bad). This is the promised story that is all about Sarah MacManus and the time spent during the movies._

_It will follow the format of the movies fairly strictly (hopefully, it's a bit tricky at some parts) and I hope you enjoy :)_


	2. Chapter 1

Sarah (now at twenty-four) and the twins (twenty-seven) were kneeling in church on a warm St. Patrick's day afternoon. Sarah was between her big brothers, all three wearing the same clothes. Black t-shirt, black pea coat, blue jeans, heavy boots, and matching rosaries from their necks. The only sign that time had passed at all were the tattoos.

The three of them got the Virgin Mary on the left side of their neck. Connor had _Veritas_ inked on his left forefinger, an ornate Celtic cross on the same forearm. Murphy had _Aequitas_ on his right forefinger, the same cross on that forearm. Sarah had the cross on her back, nestled between her shoulder blades, unseen, but on her collarbones for all to see, exposed by her low-cut shirt, were the words _Libertas Sancti_.

In unison, they rose and walked up the aisle, the monsignor speaking.

"This poor soul cried out for help, time and time again, but no person answered her calls. Though many saw, no one so much as called the police." The three knelt before Christ and said their prayers. "They all just watched as Kitty was being stabbed to death in broad daylight. They watched as her assailant walked away." Rising together, they kissed His feet and walked back to the door. "Now, we must all fear evil men. But there is another kind of evil, which we must fear most, and that is the indifference of good men."

The three tucked their rosaries under their shirts, slid their sunglasses in place and left. The street seemed almost blinding in light of the full sun. Sarah squinted from behind her sunglasses as she pulled out a cigarette. In perfect synchronicity the three lit up and glanced down at the busy street beneath the church steps.

"I do believe the monsignor's finally got the point," Sarah blew out a stream of smoke.

"Aye," her brothers replied.

South Boston was their home. It may be rough around the edges, but they expected nothing else. It was filled with Irish immigrants and felt like home. The three of them learned to look out for each other and defend themselves from any problems. They went into work, just a normal day at the meat packaging plant. McGerkin smiled as the three walked in, changed, and got to work.

Murphy got a wicked grin on his face as Connor took his smoking break. He grabbed a big slab of meat and hid beside the door. Sarah grinned and he put a finger to his lips. She gave a small nod and turned back to her work. Connor walked in and noticed all the faces looking back at him.

"What?"

Murphy flung the meat around and slapped Connor right in the face. The rest of the worker cheered and Murphy gave Sarah a high five. Connor, regaining his composure, picked up Murphy about the waist and dropped him onto a table, picking up a cow tongue and smacking Murphy round the head a couple of times.

Laughing, Sarah turned to see McGerkin walking in, followed by the biggest woman Sarah had ever seen in her life. The laughter died on her lips as she stared the woman up and down. Connor and Murphy stopped their fight and came up next to her, their presence comforting.

"This is Rose… Baum… Gurtle… Gurtle…" McGerkin started.

"Rozengurtle Baumgartner," the woman interrupted.

"You boys will be training her today, so do a good job."

"Aye," the boys nodded.

Sarah stifled a giggle and turned back to her station, keeping a close eye on her brothers.

"Pleased to meet you, Rozie," Connor said pleasantly, holding his hand out.

"I prefer to be called Rozengurtle by men," she replied shortly.

Sarah gaped at that statement. She couldn't hide her giggle very well and ended up snorting. Murphy gave her a look.

"Oh, of course you do then," Connor said slowly, taken aback. "Let's get you started."

Murphy walked over to Sarah, his mouth wide open. "Christ, that's the largest woman I've ever seen."

"It's self-imposed affirmative action," McGerkin explained, coming up to the two siblings. "If we hire big, fat, angry lesbians, then the leftist groups representing big, fat, angry lesbians won't think we're violating their rights."

"Well, how politically correct you are," Sarah said only slightly hiding her sarcasm.

"You don't know the half of it," McGerkin said. "Those people can shut you down. They'll sue you into the ground claiming they were put under duress, mental pain, inner suffering, shit like that."

"Well, as long as we're hiring fat lesbians, why don't you give your ma a call," Murphy grinned.

Sarah laughed at that and McGerkin walked away, shouting a faint "fuck you" as he went. Murphy came next to Sarah and started helping her out.

"She's gonna eat Connor and spit him out," Sarah said to Murphy, gesturing to where Rozengurtle was giving a huge lecture about the origins of the phrase "rule of thumb". Sarah rolled her eyes at the lecture.

"Best help him out then," Murphy gave Sarah a thumbs-up and went to the assembly line on the other side of Rozengurtle.

Sarah tried to stay focused on her task but her eyes kept drifting upwards to the back of Rozengurtle between her brothers. The other workers glanced at them warily, feeling the silence thicken. The tension was building and Sarah clenched her hands in fists.

"Say, Murph?" Connor said after a few minutes of awkward silence.

"Aye," Murphy replied.

"How many lesbians does it take to screw in a light bulb?"

Sarah dropped her knife and waited. Rozengurtle's shoulders tensed.

"How many?" Murphy asked. Sarah could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Two," Connor said, laughter bubbling out of him. "One to actually screw it in and one wee little lesbian to suck my fucking cock! While I supervise!"

The rest of the workers burst out in laughter. Sarah moved out from behind a meat rack, sensing that nothing good was coming next. Rozengurtle jabbed her knife into a piece of meat and turned to Connor, giving him a shove.

"I knew you two pricks would give me problems. Give me shit cause I'm a woman. Well I'm not gonna take your male-dominance bullshit."

"Just relax," Connor said. "Just trying to get a rise outta you."

"Yeah," Murphy agreed. "Just trying to break the ice is all."

"Fuck you," she shouted at Connor. She turned to Murphy, "and fuck you too!"

"Come on, it's St. Patty's Day," Murphy tried again. "It's all in good fun."

"Does Baumgartner sound Irish to you, fuck face?" Rozengurtle snapped, getting into Murphy's face.

Sarah and a few other workers gathered around. Sarah crossed her arms.

"Now look, Rozie," Connor said, "we're sorry. Just relax."

Swift as she could, Rozengurtle slammed her fist into Connor's face. He stumbled a bit, but stood up, hand on his nose. Sarah moved up next to Murphy, anger blazing through her. Connor, never one to give up, gave Rozengurtle a look.

"Perhaps you should save all that aggression for protests and marches and – "

He didn't get to finish his sentence as Rozengurtle gave him a hard kick to his crotch. He fell over, moaning in pain. A couple of girls ran to him, making sure he was okay. Sarah made to move forward, but Murphy held her back just slightly.

"You two fucking slaves," Rozengurtle looked at the girls with derision, "kowtowing to the needs of men. Get up! Get the fuck up and leave him there!"

Enough was enough. Beating up Connor was one thing, but insulting the gender that Sarah held so dear to her heart was another. She took one step forward and slammed her fist into Rozengurtle's face, feeling her knuckles bruise. Murphy gave her a grin and an approving pat on her back.

"Think twice before you pick a fight, eh Rozie?" Sarah said, smirking.

* * *

With Sarah holding onto Connor's arm, the three make it to their apartment. They call it an apartment, but it's really a big loft-like room. A couple of beds against one wall, a moth-eaten couch in front of a table, a nearly empty fridge, an open shower and toilet. Not much, but they call it home. Connor still limping, the three walked in and hung their rosaries by the door. The boys started relaxing, taking their clothes off. Sarah got a pack of ice for Connor and he sat down on the couch, gingerly placing the ice on his crotch. Sarah pulled her shirt and pants off, pulling out a can of beer to soothe her bruising knuckles and another one for Connor. Murphy had his hand in the shower, waiting for hot water.

The phone rang and Sarah picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Sarah?" Ma's voice came through, garbled and rough. "Sweetie, I need to talk to your brothers, can you get them for me?"

"Yeah, sure," Sarah said, handing the phone to Connor. "It's Ma."

Connor took the phone and Sarah walked to the fridge, pulling out another beer and tossing it to Murphy.

"Christ, there's no fucking hot water, man," Murphy complained, catching the beer.

"Shut it, it's Ma," Connor gestured to the phone.

Connor listened to Ma, Murphy and Sarah coming closer. Sarah set her beer down on the table. Connor's face getting more and more confused.

"What are you saying? You're talking crazy here!" Connor said.

"What's the matter with her?" Murphy asked, pulling a towel around his waist.

Sarah shrugged.

Connor stiffened, "Ma, no! What are you doing with Da's gun?"

"Da's gun?!" Murphy bent over, "What the – ?"

"What the hell are you doing?" Connor said, ice pack forgotten.

"The fuck?" Sarah asked, wanting answers.

"Pull the trigger?! Have you lost it, woman?!" Connor said.

Murphy went into a panic, running for his clothes. Sarah gasped and reached for the phone, Connor slapping her hand. All three of them were shouting now, "Ma, no! Ma, listen to us! Ma!" and, with a jolt, Connor jumped, tossing the phone across the floor. The three of them dove for it, ice scattering across the ground.

They finally picked the phone up, all three of their heads up against the phone. Sarah could feel her heartbeat in her toes from worry. Connor and Murphy's hearts were beating fast too, pressed up next to her.

"Ma?" they shouted through the phone, "Ma?"

Dimly, Sarah heard laughter. She and the boys wilted. Just like Ma to make a joke like that. Connor collapsed to the floor, halfheartedly grabbing a few ice cubes for his aching crotch, Murphy took over the phone and Sarah leaned against him.

"God have mercy, that was a good one, Ma," Murphy said.

"Fucking evil woman," Connor muttered.

Content to know Ma was alive, Sarah got up, heading for the shower. Hot water or no, she was having a shower.

"She's quite proud of herself," Murphy said.

"Well, of course she is," Sarah called.

The boys talked to Ma for a while, asking about Uncle Sibeal, telling her about Connor's fight with Rozengurtle. Sarah snatched the phone at this point, dripping wet and naked, and told Ma that neither Murphy nor Connor did anything and _she_ was the one that did all the fighting.

"Now listen," Ma said seriously, "I know how my boys take to scrapping when they take to drinking."

"Yes, Mother," Connor and Murphy replied dully.

"And my little girl ain't no better."

"Yes, Momma," Sarah grinned.

"I mean it now," Ma said. "I carried you boys in my belly at the same time. You ruined my girlish figure in one fell swoop and then you sucked me dry; didn't leave enough for your little sister. Not that she was any better. Now listen to me, no fighting!"

"Yes, Mother," Connor said.

"Promise me."

"Yeah, we promise," they all said.

"Well, there's my children," Ma said. "Shit. Gotta go. Looks like I caused a ruckus with that shot. Half the damn neighborhood is coming."

"Alright, love you Ma," Murphy said. "Hey, listen, before you go, give us the goods, huh? Please?"

"Yeah, come on Ma, it's been twenty-seven years!" Connor said.

Sarah laughed and let her brothers take the phone away. They were on their knees begging Ma to tell them. Sarah took a long pull from her beer and watched. The twins were holding the phone tightly, waiting with eager anticipation. Sarah could hear Ma laughing as the boys wilted. Connor dropped the phone and Sarah scooped it up.

"Well, Ma?" she asked, the boys looking each other up and down.

"The one with the bigger cock," Ma replied. "That oughta keep them going."

Sarah laughed, "Love you, Ma."

"Love you too," Ma said, hanging up.

Sarah tossed the phone on the couch. She glanced between Connor and Murphy, a small grin growing on her face. Smirk still in place, she hopped back into the shower, ignoring the frigid water as she washed her hair.

"Easy for you," Connor snapped. "We all know you're the baby."

"And we all know if I were a man I'd have bigger balls than the both of you," Sarah replied easily.

* * *

As per St. Patty's tradition, they went down to McGinty's. The night progressed as well as it could, Rocco joining halfway through.

"Hey Fuck Ass," he called to Doc, "get me a beer!"

Laughing, he gave Sarah a kiss on the cheek and joined them at the bar. The night ended, leaving only the most dedicated drinkers, namely the MacManuses, Rocco, and five other friends. It was then that Doc gave an important announcement.

"I got some bad news," Doc said. "Looks like I'm gonna hafta close down th-th-the bar. The Russians have been buying up buildings all over town, including this one. Fuck! Ass! And they're not letting me renew my lease. "

They all moaned and held onto their drinks tighter, as if they could keep the bar by sheer force of will.

"Let me talk to my boss, maybe he can do something." Rocco started but was cut off by the others. As if talking to Poppa Joe would help with the Russians. Besides, they didn't need the Mafia involvement.

"Listen," Doc continued, "I don't want anyone to know so you keep your traps shut. You know what they say: people in glass houses sink s-s-ships."

Everyone looked at Doc with confused looks before breaking out into soft chuckles.

"You know Doc," Sarah said between giggles, "I gotta get you a proverb book or something. All this mix-and-match shit has gotta go."

"What?"

"'A penny saved is worth two in the bush', isn't it?" Connor said.

"And 'Don't cross the road if you can't get out of the kitchen'," Murphy added.

Everyone laughed more and Sarah lit up a cigarette. The door opened and three large Russians came in. The man in charge, came up to the bar, slowly pulling off his gloves. The laughter faded as they all turn around.

"I am Ivan Chekov," the man in charge spoke in a thick accent. "You will be closing now."

"Chekov," Murphy put an arm around Rocco. "Well, this here's McCoy. We find a Spock we've got us an away team."

They all laughed again.

"Me in no mood for discussion," Ivan snapped. "You!" he pointed to Doc "You stay. The rest of you go, now."

"Why don't you make like a tree," Doc said, "and get the fuck outta here!"

They all rolled their eyes and went back to the bar. The three MacManus's grab a beer each and turn to the Russians.

"You know he has until the week's end, right?" Connor said. "You don't have to be hard-asses, do you?"

"It's St. Patty's Day," Sarah added. "Everyone's Irish tonight."

"Yeah," Murphy nodded. "Why don't you just pull up a stool and have a drink with us?"

Chekov slammed their beers to the ground, glass shattering. "This is no game! If you won't go, we will make you go."


	3. Chapter 2

Paul Smecker rode silently in the back of the police car. He wasn't sure what kind of scene demanded his presence, but he was going to be top of his game. He shook hands with the Chief and came onto the scene, ducking under the yellow tape. He paused the Chief, listening to the theory that the Boston cop had.

A theory that was getting more and more ridiculous by the second. Smecker barely held back a derisive laugh. It was obvious that this guy was a rookie. Judging from the looks the other detectives were giving, they thought the same thing.

" – Look at him. His spine's all crushed. Had to be one big motherfucker. Huge, 3-400 pounds. Fucking huge."

"That's pretty thin," Dolly smirked.

"Very thin," Duffy agreed.

"'Kay, alright, alright. Say these two guys right here, they don't even know the fucking huge guy. They're just staggering home from a bar still all fucked up from St. Patty's last night. So they figure they'll take a short cut down the alley. Wrong fucking alley, huh? Cause this big motherfucker, he's just waiting for them, right? And what could be more perfect for a strong-arm robbery? Two drunk guys all bandaged up. They're already injured for Christ's sakes, look at them. These guys are stumbling through the alley. _Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-la_. This guy takes a blunt object and fucking – wah! Hits the guy with the bandage on his head, right? Why? Cause he's smart. He knows the guy with the bandage around his ass, he ain't going nowhere. He's going fucking nowhere! Where are you going? Nowhere! He ain't done yet. He comes over here, jumps on this guy's back and crushes him to death. I feel something big here. I wouldn't be surprised to see a lot of these turning up."

"Brilliant," Smecker grinned. "So now we got a huge guy theory and a serial crusher theory. Top notch." He turns to the detective who spouted the nonsense. "What's your name?"

"Detective Greenly," he said. "Who the fuck are you?"

Smecker pulls open his coat and lets his FBI badge show. "That's who the fuck I am."

"Listen," the Chief said, "I gotta do this by the numbers. I.D. just came back on these guys. They've got connections to the Russian Mob. That makes it a federal matter. And Agent Smecker here, is heading up the investigation with our full cooperation."

"Why don't you get me a cup of coffee," Smecker said to Greenly.

"What the fuck?"

"Café latte, twist of lemon."

"Chief, what the fuck is this?"

"Sweet-n-low," Smecker grinned.

Greenly pouted and stormed off. Smecker knelt down by the dumpster, put in some headphones, pulled on his gloves, and turned on his walkman. Opera, a true way to open your mind. He examines the broken porcelain and looks up at the rooftop. The building looks about fifty or maybe sixty feet high. Must've been quite a jump. There's a bullet hole in the dumpster. Content, Smecker moves to one of the bodies, pouring liquid paraffin on the hand. Positive. He looks up at the rooftop again, and walks down the alleyway, hands out with the music. There, on the wall, just as he suspected, was the bullet hole. He conducts his way back to the dead bodies and pulls the headphones out. He knows what happened here.

"Mitchell, Langley!" Smecker called over a couple of officers. "Find the manager of this building. See if he's had any complaints of water coming down in any apartments, starting just this morning. Langley, you take that building, same thing."

The two cops eagerly run off to do their job.

"Chaffey, Newman," Smecker called a few more over. "Look in the trash around their hands. See if you can find me two bullet casings, fifty-caliber if my eyes serve me right. Don't disturb them. Mark them as they lay. Newman, rip through this shit. If this was sink, find me some metal parts. Give me a drain cover, a faucet or something."

"Got it!" Chaffey pulled out a bullet casing. "It's a 50-cal."

"Chief," Smecker lit up a cigarette, "can you get ballistics down here and tell them they have to dig a 50-caliber slug out of a brick wall and locate another that's been fired through a dumpster."

"We got the best ballistics guy in the world. I can have him here in ten minutes."

"How did you know that?" Dolly asked.

"Liquid paraffin came up positive. And bullet holes are usually a big clue."

"Nobody reported any gunshots."

"This is an Irish neighborhood. I'm surprised you even got a phone call."

"You know, I can't find the second one, sir," Chaffey said.

"Look under the body."

"Oh, yeah, there it is."

Smecker turns to Dolly and Duffy with a grin.

"You guys ready for this?" he said. "This was no gangland assassination. Though creative, it was way too sloppy. Something went wrong here. This has 'personal' written all over it."

"Agent Smecker," Mitchell came up. "This is all illegal loft housing, there's no manager on the premises, but I found a lady on the fourth floor who said she had water dripping down on her whole place. It started just this morning."

"Fourth floor, huh?" Smecker looked at the detectives. "Then we're heading to the fifth."

Greenly came back with a cup of coffee for Smecker. Together, they went inside the building. They came out the elevator on the fifth floor and the three detectives were protesting Smecker's idea.

"Come on. Let's get out of here. You're reaching man."

"It's a theory."

"No way. You know how big a guy's gotta be to do that? Fucking huge."

"Oh, really?" Smecker couldn't resist putting his hand on his hip. "I might just be wanting a bagel with my coffee," Smecker gave a snarky grin, put a hand on his hip, and left the elevator.

Smecker glanced over the scene in front of him and a grin spread across his face. The three detectives came up behind him and stood in silent awe.

"We'll start the ass kissing with you," Smecker pointed to Greenly.

They came back out to the street, ready to head to the station.

"Agent Smecker," Mitchell came up again. "I know this neighborhood pretty good. There's a bar called McGinty's down the block. It stands a good chance they were there last night."

"Good work, Mitchell, I'll check it out myself."

* * *

Connor and Murphy were both bandaged up and they waited for Doc, playing with a little boy. Sarah stood next to Connor, holding him up while Murphy sat on a nearby bed. Doc came in through the door, news that an FBI agent came in for them. He pulled out a card.

"What are you gonna do?" he asked.

"Turn ourselves in," Sarah said. "It was self defense."

"Yeah, that's what he said," Doc muttered.

"How the fuck's he know that?" Murphy demanded, looking at Connor. "We haven't spoken to anyone yet."

"Don't know, he d-d-didn't say."

"Listen Doc, we need you to do us a favor," Connor said, pulling out the bag. "Hold onto this for us. We're gonna come back for it when we get out."

Doc took the bag and left the hospital.

"We better get going then," Murphy said briskly. "We wanna get our names cleared."

"I wanna meet this agent," Sarah looked at the card. "Paul Smecker."

"Think you can carry us both there, leprechaun?" Connor teased.

"Already did it once," Sarah smirked.

* * *

"First of all," Smecker came into the room, strong and angry, "I'd like to thank whichever one of you donut-munching, barrel-assed, pud-pulling sissies leaked this to the press. That's just what we need now, some sensational story in the papers making these three out to be superheroes triumphing over evil. Let me squash the rumors now. They are not heroes. They're just two ordinary men and one ordinary woman who were put in an extraordinary situation, and they just happened to come out on top."

Smecker walked around the room.

"Yes, nothing from our far-reaching computer system has turned up diddly on these three. All we know is what we found out from the neighbors. And the general consensus is…" he paused to give a smirk "…they're angels. But angels don't kill. And we got two bodies in the morgue who look like they've been serial crushed by some huge frigging guy." The cops laughed and Greenly looked down in embarrassment.

"Are we considering these three armed and dangerous?" Chaffey asked.

"Well, not armed. If they had guns they would've used them. But dangerous? Very."

"Now that makes you think they're dangerous?" Mitchell asked. "Maybe they're just protecting each other." This statement was met with chatter from the other officers.

"Hey, look," Smecker stood up, "I-I-I'm not saying one way or the other. Just be careful and go by the protocol on this. It's grunt police work that's gonna bring this one in."

"These guys are miles away by now," Greenly said, lounging in his chair. "But if you wanna beat your head against the wall, then here's what you're looking for. They're scared, like three little bunny rabbits. Anything in a uniform or flashing blue lights is gonna spook them. Okay? So the only thing we can do is put a potato on a string and drag it through South Boston, thanks for coming out!"

Smecker didn't really catch the last bit, being distracted by the three people that just walked into the precinct. Two men, arms over a woman who was helping them inside.

"You'd probably have better luck with a beer."

The officers all dropped to their feet and turned to the voice. Greenly's face fell.

"Aye, you would."

"Oh, fuck," Greenly sighed.

"Hey, Greenly," Smecker gave a smug smile. "Onion bagel, cream cheese."


	4. Chapter 3

Sarah, Connor, and Murphy were taken to a secluded room, the FBI agent, Paul Smecker, waiting for them. Bagels and coffee were set out and Sarah was gladly digging in. Dragging her two brothers around the city built up an appetite. Smecker closed all the blinds before sitting in front of the three siblings.

"This conversation is going to be recorded," he said. "Just answer to the best of knowledge."

"Sir, excuse me, please," Sarah stopped Smecker from pushing the record button. She turned to her brothers and spoke in Gaelic, "_What do we tell him about he guns and money_?"

"_We just got up and left_," Connor whispered back in the same. "_Bum must've rolled them before the police got there_."

"Okay, we're ready." Murphy let Smecker hit the record button.

"You are not under oath here," Smecker said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and offering it to them. "Just answer the questions. I'm assuming you knew these guys from before."

Sarah took the offered cigarette.

"We met them last night," she confessed.

"They had some pretty interesting bandages," Smecker said, not to be swayed. "Know anything about that?"

The three siblings glanced at each other and, together, told the story...

* * *

"Listen," Connor, ever the diplomat, said, "if you wanna fight you can see you're outnumbered here. We're trying to be civil so I suggest you take our offer."

"I make the offers," Chekov said.

"Hey, Boris," Rocco said, stepping forward. "What would you do if I told you your pinko Commie mother sucked so much dick, her face looks like an egg?"

Chekov punched Rocco, his face smashing against the bar. At once, the patrons shouted, Connor and Murphy checking Rocco. Sarah jumped forward, promise to Ma forgotten. Her chest was hot with anger.

"_Now, that wasn't too polite, was it?_" she said in Russian, getting up in Ivan's face. "_I'm afraid we can't let that one go, _Vanya_._"

The Russians looked at her in shock. She tipped a shot in their direction and grinned at her brothers. They downed the Hennessey and, setting the glasses on the bar, the three tackled the Russians.

The bar exploded, shouts echoing through the little room. Fists were flying and glasses were breaking. Connor and Murphy were on one guy, the four other patrons on Ivan. Sarah was caught up against one Russian on her own, fighting as dirty as she knew how; biting and clawing and as many dick shots as she could muster. She dimly heard Connor shout, "She can take care of herself!" as she pulled down two wine bottles, slamming them against the Russian's head. He fell in an instant.

Sarah stood up with dignity and tossed her hair back. They tied up Chekov to the bar, Connor pouring whiskey on his ass and lighting it. Served him right, Sarah thought, even if the other men didn't agree and rushed to put the fire out.

The next morning, Sarah stretched her muscles. The morning after a bar fight was the worse. She slid her robe on over her tank top and panties, nudging Murphy and Connor awake. Yawning, the three laced up their boots. The door slammed open and they jumped. Two of those Russians walked in, Ivan and the one Sarah was fighting, guns raised and shouting.

Ivan slammed his gun against both Connor and Murphy's head, blood gushing from their wounds. Sarah yelled but the other Russian grabbed Sarah by the hair, holding her still. Her eyes watered in pain. Ivan dragged her brothers away and handcuffed Connor and Murphy to the toilet.

"I come here to kill you," Chekov hissed in the boys' ears. "But now, I no think I fucking kill you. I kill your sister. Shoot her in the head."

"Sarah!" they shouted, pulling at the toilet, eyes narrowed in fury. "_Sarah!_"

"Fuck you!" Sarah shouted as the Russians pulled her down the stairs by her hair. "It was just a bar fight, you fucking pussies!"

They yanked her by the hair into the alleyway. Chekov had her on her knees, his gun to her head, laughing. Sarah stared at him defiantly. Nothing was quite as pathetic as being executed in an alleyway, but she would not be a coward. She would look death in the face and she would not fear it.

Sarah looked up past the Russian and her eyes grew wide. Connor and Murphy were on the rooftop sixty feet above her, toilet in hand. They dropped it on Chekov, jumping to the other Russian. Chekov was dead instantly, porcelain covering the alley as it shattered on his head. The other was merely knocked out, Connor and Murphy on the ground, not moving, blood covering their wrists from where the cuffs dug into them.

Sarah acted instantly. She made sure her brothers were okay before slamming the toilet lid against the Russian's head over and over again, stopping him from grabbing his gun. Grabbing a spare bag, Sarah took the guns and any valuables from the Russians and filled it. Make it look like a robbery gone wrong. Murphy was starting to wake, mumbling incoherently, but definitely awake enough to hobble. Sarah lifted Connor on one shoulder, Murphy on the other. She grabbed the bag, and made the long walk to the hospital...

* * *

"How is it that you guys are fluent in Russian?" Smecker asked when the story was told, looking rather impressed.

"We paid attention in school," Connor said simply.

"Do you speak any other languages?" Smecker asked.

"Aye," Murphy said. "Our mother insisted on it."

"French," Sarah said. "_How do you think he figured all this out without talking to us_?"

"Oh, that's beautiful," Smecker said, in awe.

"_I have no idea,_" Connor replied. "_Maybe someone saw and talked._"

"What's that?" Smecker asked.

"It's Italian," Connor laughed.

"_Not in our neighborhood, man. A hundred percent Irish,_" Murphy countered in German. "_No one talks to cops. Period._"

"_Then I guess he's just real, real good,_" Sarah concluded in Spanish, the three of them laughing at Smecker's expressions.

Smecker was impressed, very impressed, "What are you guys doing working at a frigging meat packing plant?"

They had no answer. A new cop came in with some news. The press was waiting for them outside, going crazy it sounded like.

"You're not being charged," Smecker said. "It's up to you. You wanna talk to them?"

"Absolutely not," Connor said.

"No pictures either," Murphy nodded.

"We could try the bag over the head thing," Smecker suggested. "Walk you right out the front door and none would be the wiser."

"Our mother can see through bags," Sarah deadpanned.

"Aye, she can," Murphy grinned. "Any way we can stay here?"

"Sure, we have an empty holding cell," the cop said eagerly. "You guys can…" he turned to Smecker. "Can they stay?"

"Well, I'll have to check with your mom, but it's okay with me if your friends sleep over," Smecker said with a curious grin.

The siblings chuckled and Smecker stood up.

"Time to feed the dogs," he said as he followed the other cop out of the room.

"He's a nice guy," Sarah smirked to her brothers.

"Yesssss, he is," Murphy replied.

They laughed.

* * *

Smecker came out of the precinct with the Chief to see the press, make sure that the request of the siblings was met. The Chief stood outside, handling the press effortlessly.

"This is our official statement. The MacManus siblings are not being charged with a crime. This is a clear-cut case of self-defense. They are being released at an undisclosed time and location in accordance with their wishes."

The press shouted questions, trying to push their way in. A man with shaggy hair and arms filled with clothes walked in, sneaking past Smecker behind the Chief. Interesting.

* * *

The cop, Chaffey led the MacManuses to an empty holding cell, an extra bed thrown in for Sarah. He brought over a friend, Mitchell, and pulled out a deck of cards. Sarah flounced to one of the beds and sprawled over it, letting the men play.

Rocco came by soon after with clothes and their rosaries. Connor and Murphy cheered and hugged him. Sarah kissed him on the cheek and pulled her rosary over her head, comforted by its weight against her chest.

Holding cell beds were uncomfortable; really uncomfortable actually. Still they managed to sleep during the night, comforted by their own clothes and the prospect of freedom the next morning. In her sleep, Sarah heard the voice of the monsignor in her head, echoing with the thunder. _Indifference of good men. Nobody wanted to get involved. Nobody..._

Fully awake, Sarah sat up, gasping for breath, her brothers doing the same on either side of her. Her entire body was flooded with ecstasy, righteous fury coursing through her veins. Her skin was hot and tight against her body and thunder was pounding in her heart. She felt the water dripping over her face, the monsignor's voice echoing in her ears, matched with another voice she couldn't recognize.

_Whosoever shed my blood, by man shall his blood be shed. For in the image of God may deem a man._

"Destroy all that which is evil," Connor said, breathlessly.

"So that which is good may flourish," Murphy said.

"Amen," Sarah finished.

She knew, and her brothers knew as well, that they were given a calling, a mission from God Himself. As she looked at them and they looked at her, they all knew what was coming.


	5. Chapter 4

The next morning, they dressed and looked at each other. They knew what they had to do. It was told to them last night. Sarah knew that she should be scared, that she should be trembling with fear, but she wasn't. She had her brothers, she had her calling and there was nothing that could hurt her. The Russian's pager started beeping and Connor took it. Shrugging into their jackets, they walked out the main office where all the cops were waiting.

They were greeted with cheers and applause. Murphy lifted his arms up and Sarah gave a mock bow. They shook hands with the cops and detectives around. Connor took a pen from one of the cops and went to the phone.

"Good morning," Duffy greeted, holding out a box of donuts and gesturing to the coffee. "We'd be honored if you'd join us."

Sarah picked up a cup of coffee and smiled at them. One of them, Dolly, gave a newspaper to Murphy. One the front it read: _Saints of South Boston_.

"Saints?" Sarah muttered, elbowing Murphy.

He shrugged at her and turned to the detectives, dipping his fingers in the coffee and tossing it on the detectives, "Body of Christ. Body of Christ."

Laughing, they noticed Connor motioning them to leave. He told them the message from the phone: Copley Plaza, 9pm, a gathering of all the heads of the Russian mob.

"Good a place as any to start," Connor shrugged.

The three picked the bag up from Doc and went to a known arms dealer. He kept his operation in the basement of his own home and didn't come cheap. At this point though, money wasn't a problem. They dropped everything from the Russians on the table, guns, jewelry, money. Sarah stood in the back, arms crossed. Waiting.

"Knock yourselves out," the dealer tossed each of them a bag, flipping on lights.

Behind them was a small room filled with guns and other weapons. They grinned as they started packing their bags. Sarah picked up a sniper rifle and looked at it in awe, loving the weight in her hands. She set it down and moved to a pair of assault rifles.

"Do you know what we need?" Connor said. "Some rope."

"Absolutely," Sarah rolled her eyes, dropping a mask and some gloves in her bag.

"What are you, insane?" Murphy asked.

"No it ain't," Connor said. "Charlie Bronson's always got rope. He's got a lot of rope strapped around him in the movies and they _always_ end up using it."

"You've lost it, haven't you?" Murphy said.

"I'm serious!" Connor insisted, pulling down two 9mm with silencers.

"That's just stupid," Sarah slid some ammo in with her own 9mm. "Name one thing you'd need a rope for."

"I don't fucking know what you're gonna need it for, they just always need it," Connor said, looking at his siblings in exasperation.

Murphy slid a huge hunting knife into his bag, making sure Connor didn't notice. Sarah did and she felt a wide smirk spread across her face.

"What's this 'they' shit?" Murphy asked, moving behind the mounted machine gun, tossing his bag on a table. "This isn't a movie."

Sarah reached over and pulled the knife from his bag, holding it up as evidence, "Is that right, Rambo?"

"Alright," Murphy gave in, turning to Connor. "Get your stupid fucking rope."

"I'll get my stupid rope," Connor grinned, pulling it off it's hook. "I'll get it. That's rope right there!"

* * *

Dressed in black turtlenecks with pea coats and blue jeans, they made their way into the Copley Plaza Hotel at 8:45 that night. Fifteen minutes to go. Once in the elevator, Sarah stripped her clothes. Murphy pulled out a skimpy black dress and she slid into it and put on a pair of four-inch heels. She strapped a gun against her thigh, barely covered by the dress.

"Couldn't have picked something a wee bit fucking longer, could you?" Sarah snapped at Murphy, trying to hide her gun.

Connor stopped the elevator and Sarah pulled her hair up into a messy bun.

"Nervous?" Connor asked as Sarah took deep breaths.

"A bit," Sarah admitted.

"Myself as well," Connor put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Good luck," Murphy said, hand on her other shoulder.

"You as well," Sarah left the elevator.

She paused in front of the door and made the sign of the cross. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.


	6. Chapter 5

Smecker, still upset about what happened in his hotel room, charged into the hotel suite. He took in the entire scene at a mere glance. Blood splattered everywhere, forensics all over the place, and Dolly, Duffy and Greenly trying to come up with an explanation. He walked through the room, mentally tallying the dead as he did so.

"This was a fucking slaughterhouse," Duffy said.

Smecker nodded, continuing his walk around the perimeter.

"How many bodies Greenly?" Smecker asked, eyeing the one hidden behind the couch.

"Eight," Greenly said.

Smecker glared.

"Aw shit, I forgot about that one! Nine… nine?"

"While Greenly's out getting coffee, anybody else want anything?"

"Shit," Greenly groaned and left the hotel room.

"So, Duffy," Smecker turned to the next detective, "you got any theories to go with that tie?"

"Look," Duffy took a step forward, ignoring the quip about his tie, "fuck all these other guys. This was their target. The fag man."

"The what man?" Smecker shot out, stopping his walk on the back of the couches.

Dolly gave Duffy a clear warning look. Folding his arms with eyes wide in fright.

"The fat man."

"So… Freud was right," Smecker said. "So you think they came for the fag man, huh? What do you base this upon?"

"He was the only one done right, double tap the back of the head."

"And the pennies?"

"New hit man wants to leave his mark."

"That's a possibility," Smecker nodded. "Now you Irish cops are perking up. That's two sound theories in one day, neither of which deal with abnormally-sized men. Kind of makes me feel like river dancing." Smecker put his hands on his hips and did a few steps, ignoring the looks that the detectives were giving him.

"Another possibility is they were placed there with religions intent."

"Okay, some cultures still put pennies in the eyes of the dead. Or silver," Duffy agreed.

"The Italians, the Greeks."

"Sicilians," Duffy tacked on.

"So, what's the symbology there?" Dolly asked.

"The 'symbology'?" Smecker repeated. "Now that Duffy ahs relinquished his King Bonehead crown, I see we have an heir to the throne. I'm sure the word you were looking for is symbolism. What is the _symbolism_ there. Let me explain it to you." He jumped down and made his way to Dolly.

"In Greek and Roman mythology, when you died, you'd have to pay the toll to Charon, the boatman who ferried you across to the Gates of Judgment. This made sure the dead came to atone for what they did during their lives, Detective Alapopskalius."

"Jesus, you're the first one that ever got that."

"Yeah, well, I'm an expert in… nameology!" Smecker smiled and Dolly laughed.

Greenly came back and the four of them were looking down at the man in the center. The gloves were on and it was time to get to serious business. Smecker pointed out the silencer burns and the near identical exit and entry wounds. Two bullets came in through the top of the skull, crisscrossed and exited the eyes. The third one came in a few inches lower and exited the mouth. This gave three facts.

"Number one, Duffy?"

"They shot him at a downward angle. They put him on his knees."

"Excellent," Smecker smiled. "Number two, Greenly?"

"They… shot him at a downward angle?"

Smecker groaned. "It tells us he was the last to die. And number three, Dolly."

"There was three shooters?"

"Fan-freaking-tastic."

Duffy and Greenly gave him looks of confusion.

"Stay with me boys. What did they do to make two such identical wounds? Two men of similar height dropped this guy down. Each put some iron to his head and _boom_! That's all she fricking wrote. The third shot came from man number three, a few inches shorter and centered between the other guys."

"What if it was only two guys, and one of them had two guns?"

"Ah, possible, but unlikely, the angles are too extreme," Smecker stood up to demonstrate. "A guy holding two guns to the back of your noodle is going to shoot straight ahead, he wouldn't cock out his elbows, it makes no sense. Not to mention the height difference between shots one and two and the third one. Besides, are you telling me that two guys came in here and killed eight men with eight extremely well-aimed shots in just a few seconds? No way. It had to be at least three."

* * *

As soon as she knocked, Sarah heard whispers. Adrenaline pumped through her body as the door opened, leading to the suite where the mob leaders were. The man at the door looked her up and down, a small grin growing on his face. He gestured for her to come inside. Sarah smiled softly and sauntered in.

She heard banging from the ceiling but refused to look up. She couldn't give them away. She felt the Russians' eyes glaze over her, licking their lips. There were nine of them, seven sitting around, one in front of her, and one (the leader she assumed) in the center. She threw her brain around for something to keep the men's eyes on her.

"_Am I to your liking?_" she said in Russian.

The Russians didn't say anything but the noise coming from the ceiling was much louder. Sarah couldn't help it; she looked up. Out came Connor and Murphy, masks on, upside-down, spinning slowly, their legs tied up in rope. They pulled out their guns and shot six of the seven Russians before they had a chance to think about moving. Sarah pulled out her gun and placed the muzzle under the chin of the man who brought her in. She pulled the trigger and he fell, blood pooling around his head. She stepped over his dead body, wiping the blood off her face and shot another man in the heart.

Murphy reached up and cut himself and Connor free of the rope. They picked up their guns, pulled the leader up onto his knees, and pressed their guns to the back of his head, tearing off their masks in the process. Sarah came up between them, her own gun nestled gently against the Russian's head, and together they spoke:

"And shepherds we shall be, for Thee, my Lord, for Thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand, that our feet my swiftly carry out Thy command. So we shall flow a river forth to Thee and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In nomine patri et filli et spiritus sancti."

They shot in unison. Together they pulled out their rosaries, taking out handfuls of pennies (after Sarah put on her gloves). They turned the bodies over, folding their arms, and put pennies on their eyes. This truly was their calling from God.

* * *

Smecker continued his walk around the room and looked up at the ceiling. A vent that crashed through the ceiling. He couldn't stop the sarcasm rolling through his head at this. He looked back at the door and then up at the ceiling again.

"Bad television," he said to the detectives. "This comes from bad television! The little assault guys coming in through the vents. That James Bond shit never happens in real life, professionals don't do it!"

Smecker looked back at the door and at one of the bodies on the ground.

"And they had someone come in through the door, something like a distraction," Smecker continued, running towards the door. "He came in, smarmied his way inside the room, and shot this guy right in the head." He pointed to the tape outline.

* * *

With the bodies ritualized, Sarah looked up at the ceiling, a gaping hole where the vent came through, and laughed softly. Even though they totally screwed up, it managed to work. Connor clapped her on the shoulder, looking up as well.

"Well... name one thing you're gonna need this stupid fucking rope for," Connor said, turning to Sarah as he pulled down the rope.

"That went well," Sarah ignored her brother, looking at the carnage and taking off her heels.

"Way easier than I thought," Murphy agreed.

"Aye," Connor nodded, still looking around at all the dead bodies.

"You know on TV you've always got that guy that jumps over the sofa," Murphy said.

"Yeah and then you've gotta shoot at him for ten fucking minutes too," Sarah agreed.

The three looked around, laughing at their success, still floored by the notion that it actually worked. Sarah clapped her brother's on the back.

"We're good," she grinned wide.

"Yes, we are!" Connor exclaimed, giving a small turn. "Now, what do you think is that little case there?" He motioned to the bar.

With a wild grin, the three of them ran to the bar, pulling each other back and laughing, careful of Sarah's bare toes. Sarah opened it and revealed neat stacks of hundred dollar bills.

"Fuck me," Connor breathed.

"The hits just keep on coming!" Murphy said, pulling out a wad of money and banging it on Connor's head.

Connor had his own stack of bills, lifting it and giving a huge sniff. His eyes rolled back with pleasure. Sarah picked up one and flipped through it. Suddenly the possibilities opened up to her. She and her brothers had thousands of dollars now at their disposal. This was money. No more living in a torn down loft, no more working with Rozie the Feminist. This was the start of a new life for them.

"I love our new job," Sarah laughed.

The doorbell buzzed. Instantly alert, the three picked up their guns and the boys put on their masks. They crept to the door quietly, Sarah behind. Looking through the peephole Connor and Murphy laughed. Sarah looked in and saw Rocco, a grin on her face.

"Poor bastard," Murphy said.

"This has gotta be his big break," Sarah said.

"We've gotta fuck with him, right?" Connor chuckled.

"Okay," Murphy agreed.

Sarah ducked behind the bar, watching her brothers pull in Rocco and shove him to the ground, terrorizing him. She could hear Rocco's pleading screams and her brothers' demands, trying violently to hide their accents. Soon, Rocco went from pleading to praising their skill until Connor said to kill him. Sarah risked a peek over the bar and stifled another giggle.

"Don't kill me. Oh, shit, please, no! I'm Rocco! I'm the funny man! The funny man!"

Slowly the brothers started to laugh and they lifted their masks. Rocco's face turned to confusion. Sarah walked forward, joining in and patting Rocco on the chest. Laughing, the three of them sauntered back to the bar, looking at the money again.

Rocco stood up, took the damage in full, and started cursing up a storm. He ran up, screaming for answers. Sarah slapped his face, shutting him up for a moment. Murphy jokingly slapped Rocco as well. Rocco lost it and tackled Murphy to a chair, punching and cursing. Connor shouted at Rocco, pulling him off his brother. Rocco, calmed down, stood up.

"Alright, we gotta clean this shit up," Connor said, gesturing to the room and picking up the case of money. He tossed it to Sarah. "We gotta get the fuck out of here. Listen, we'll take separate exits and we'll meet back at Roc's. Sarah, don't get seen by any cameras, got it?"


	7. Chapter 6

Rocco's place was small and cramped. Sarah sat crammed between Murphy and Connor, mindlessly chewing on a slice of pizza. Connor cracked open a beer and handed it to her. Murphy gave her a cigarette and she blew a smoke ring at him.

They told Rocco everything and he was taking it surprisingly well. But that could just be because they were all slowly getting drunk.

"Anybody you think is evil," Rocco repeated.

"Aye," Connor said.

"Don't you think that's a little weird? A little psycho?"

"You know what I think is psycho, Roc?" Sarah said. "It's decent men with loving families. They go home every day after work and they turn on the news. You know what they see? They see rapists and murderers and child molesters. They're all getting out of prison."

"Mafiosos getting caught with 20 kilos, getting out on bail, the same fucking day," Murphy added in.

"And everywhere, everyone thinks the same thing," Connor put in, "that someone should just go kill those motherfuckers."

"Kill them all," Murphy said. "Admit it. Even you've thought about it."

Rocco sat in silence while Sarah tossed her pizza crust onto the table, draining the last of her beer in one go.

"Shit," Rocco said. "You guys should be in every major city."

Sarah snorted with laughter, "Easy for you to say." She took a deep pull of her cigarette, letting the smoke fill her lungs.

"This is some heavy shit," Rocco said. "This is like 'Lone Ranger' heavy man. Fuck it! There's so much shit that pisses me off. You guys should recruit, cuz I am sick and fucking tired of walking down the street waiting for one of these crack-piping, ass-wiping, motherless lowlifes to get me."

"Hallelujah, Jaffar," Murphy chuckled.

"You're not just talking mob guys, right?" Rocco asked, sitting down. "You're talking pimps and drug dealers and all that shit?"

The three looked at each other and nodded.

"Fuck. You guys could do this every goddamn day," Rocco leaned back in amazement.

"We're like 7-11," Murphy said, leaning a bit forward. "We're not always doing business, but we're always open."

"Mmm, that is nicely put," Sarah nodded.

Connor handed her the bottle of whiskey and she took a drink. Rocco was messing with masks and knives while Murphy was regaling the night's events. Sarah was cooing the cat and passing a beer with Connor. Rocco was complaining about still working as the message boy for the Italians. He could never get up the ladder. Permanent package boy.

"You can take credit on it," Sarah suggested. "It's all you can do, really. I mean it's not like you can say it was us or anything."

"Climb the corporate ladder, boy," Connor agreed. "Don Rocco."

Rocco, overcome by his desire to get above things in the world, worked himself into a frenzy. He talked himself into doing it, to taking credit for the death of the Russians. In victory, he slammed his fists on the table near Sarah's gun.

_BANG!_

The gunshot shot through the room and, shouting, they all ran to the other side of the room as fast as their drunken bodies could, checking to make sure that they weren't hurt. Sarah looked up and down, no blood on her, no blood on anyone else either.

When Rocco had slammed his fist on the table, causing Sarah's gun to go off, it shot the cat that was lounging on the table. All that was left was a softball-sized hole in the wall and a huge splatter of blood. Connor took a step towards the wall.

"I can't believe that just fucking happened!" Murphy shouted.

"Is it dead?" Rocco asked.

"Oh, my God!" Sarah exclaimed, going to the next room.

She collapsed onto the couch in utter disbelief as Rocco passed out in the kitchen, leaving Connor and Murphy to patch up the wall. They were talking in hushed whispers and doing their goddamn twin thing. Sarah stood up and went next to them, demanding to be part of their conversation.

"What are you two talking about?" she asked, grabbing the tape from Connor's hand. "Don't you dare fucking lie to me either."

The twins shared a heavy glance and Sarah felt her blood pressure rising. She opened her mouth to chew out her brothers when Murphy put a hand over her mouth.

"Shut up and listen," Murphy whispered, lowering his hand. "We think that that Poppa Joe is trying to get Roc killed."

"What are you on about?" Sarah hissed back. "Why the fuck would he do that?"

"This was the gun he had on him," Connor pulled out a revolver.

"A six-shooter?!" Sarah exclaimed. "They gave him a six-shooter for nine fucking guys?"

"Hush!" Murphy shushed her. "Exactly our point. We've been mulling it over. Rocco's good, he'd probably nail the fat man, maybe a few others – "

" – but he wouldn't be leaving the scene except for in a body bag," Connor finished.

"With the shooter at the scene, dead," Sarah connected the dots, "then no real investigation and Poppa Joe gets off free."

"And he knows Rocco," Murphy continued. "Rocco would go in and try to shoot everyone. Anyone else would have gone in and out, no big deal."

"Fuck," Sarah breathed, running a hand through her hair. "You know you gotta tell him, right? Get him outta there."

"Yeah, we know," the twins said together.

Sarah looked past them and to Rocco's sleeping form on the floor. A rush of emotion welled up in her chest.

"We can't let him die," Sarah said. "We can't."

* * *

Sarah woke up on the couch. Connor and Murphy were outside. Presumably to tell Rocco what they believed. Sarah rubbed her eyes and sat up, giving a tremendous yawn. The door opened and Murphy walked in. His face was red and his eyes flashed with anger. He caught sight of Sarah and his face wilted.

"Sorry," he shrugged. "There's just no talking sense to him."

Sarah sighed. She walked to the kitchen and pulled a Pepsi from the fridge, tossing one to Murphy and another to Connor when he walked in through the door. Might as well get comfortable while they wait.

The three of them sat down at the table, sharing a few smokes and reading the morning paper, cans of soda opened between them. The phone rang and Murphy answered it before it finished its first ring. Rocco was on the other end. Murphy shook his head when he hung up. No new news. The door opened and Donna and Rayvie stumbled in. Sarah raised an eyebrow and looked at her brothers. They had the same look of disgust on their faces. Within a few minutes, they were both passed out on the couch.

"Fucking whores," Sarah said under her breath.

To help her anger, Sarah got started on the pennies, boiling them in salt water to give them shine and wipe away fingerprints. The door burst open and Rocco came in, hysterical and crying and screaming, shoving everything in a bag. She let him scream it out, trusting Connor and Murphy to handle him, keeping an eye on the pennies. All she heard were the words "We gotta get outta here!" and "I killed them!"

"The cocksucker sold me out!" Rocco shouted, catching Sarah's attention.

"Didn't I tell you, Roc?" Connor yelled. "Did they pull on you first?"

"What am I doing? I'm at the middle of the Lakeview!"

"Lakeview the Deli, Roc?" Sarah groaned.

"Looks like we got us a new fucking recruit," Murphy said.

Rocco ran to Donna and Rayvie, still shouting up a storm. Sarah, Connor and Murphy were packing their bags, getting their money, guns and everything else. Sarah got the pennies out of the pot, ignoring the scorching pain. Murphy tossed her a duffle and they walked out to the car, bags over their shoulders.

"Those rat fucks!" Rocco exclaimed. "All of them were all laughing at me."

"Are you sure you killed them all?" Sarah asked.

"Fucking-A right I did," Rocco snapped. "I had a goddamn turkey shoot over there."

"Listen, Roc," Connor said, "did anybody see you?"

"Fuck, man, I might as well have gone around posting flyers. Right out in public."

"Liberating, isn't it?" Sarah said as they jumped into the car, driving off.

They drove for a good twenty minutes, Sarah in the backseat next to Rocco, braiding her hair and pinning it behind her head.

"Connor, stop the car!" Rocco suddenly shouted. "Stop the fucking car, man!"

They were in front of a building called the Sin Bin. Vincenzo, right hand man for Yakavetta, is the one who set up Rocco the other night. He comes here, every Wednesday night about 10, and goes to the same booth. Like clockwork.

"What's your point?" Sarah asked.

"Let's kill the motherfucker," Rocco said. "I mean, what are you guys? That's your new thing, right?"

"Yeah, well." The twins share a glance.

"What the fuck?" Rocco asked. "I mean, who makes the cut? Is there a raffle or something?"

"I think, what my brothers are trying to say," Sarah leaned forward, "is those first guys kinda fell into our laps. We don't really have a system of deciding who."

"Me!" Rocco yelled. "Me! I'm the guy! I know everyone! Their habits, who they hang out with, who they talk to. I got phone numbers, addresses! I know who they're fucking! I know where they live!" his voice lowered to a hushed whisper. "We could kill everyone."

"I'm okay with it," Sarah shrugged. "What about you?"

"Yeah," Murphy said, turning to Connor. "What do you think?"

"I'm strangely comfortable with it."

* * *

They waited until nightfall to put their plan in action, giving them time to get into their turtlenecks. Murphy and Connor were distracted by a drug dealing in the alley and made to set things right. Sarah hissed at them to come back. Vincenzo had arrived, hauling his greasy fat self inside. Instantly they went into action. They walked inside and through the hallways, coming to a large door with the phrase "abandon hope ye who enter here" painted on it. The MacManus's pulled on their masks and Rocco pulled on one of his own. Homemade from a beanie. The other three bust up laughing at him.

"What?" Rocco asked. "You guys got masks!"

"You look like Mush Mouth from Fat Albert," Murphy laughed.

They pulled out their guns, still laughing at Rocco's homemade mask.

"Fine. Fuck it!" Rocco tore it off. "When we're done, she can I.D. me. I don't care. Just trying to be professional, but no!"

"Put it back on, idiot," Sarah slapped him hard. "You need it after all."

"Yeah!" Connor hit him on the head. "You look fucking scary man!"

Rocco put it back on and the four of them readied their guns.

"Now Roc," Connor said, "are you sure that you're 'O-B-kay-B'?"

Laughing, Connor and Murphy opened the door and they rushed in.

* * *

_I left out the part where Smecker explains his first theory because the speech would be the same regardless of Sarah._


	8. Chapter 7

Rocco grabbed the dancer, asking her about Vincenzo. He was in the middle door. They continued to ask questions about his routine. He jerks off in the booth, puts money through the slot, then the dancer raises the door and Vincenzo finishes. Sarah, struck with a sudden idea, ran up to the door, pulling off everything but her black underwear. She could hear him inside the booth and imagined the look of surprise that'll be on his face in a few moments.

A hundred dollar bill came through the money slot and Sarah handed it to Connor. She pulled her hair down and let it cascade down her back. Rocco looked at her strangely as she pressed the button next to the door.

It opened and there was Vincenzo, sunglasses on and pants down at his knees. He gave a start when he caught sight of Sarah. She wasn't his usual dancer. Connor and Murphy ducked out of sight, Rocco dragging the real dancer away from the window. Sarah put her hands on the glass, gave the tiniest smirk, and danced. She pressed herself close to it, sliding up and down, twisting her body. Vincenzo's mouth dropped open and he lifted his sunglasses up to see her better, his hand pumping faster.

Sharply, she gave Connor a look. Nodding, the twins came close to her, but still not in view. The three of them said the prayer. At the last phrase, the boys jumped out next to Sarah. They shot Vincenzo through the windows, breaking glass and spraying the booth with blood. The three stepped inside and knelt, crossing themselves and putting pennies over his eyes.

Sarah turned to ask Rocco what he thought of her little performance only to see him palming the passed out dancer's breast.

"Rocco!" she shouted. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

"I'll tip her!" Rocco jumped up, his hands raised.

Sarah rolled her eyes and started pulling her clothes back on. With a click, money came through the slot of the other two doors. Connor and Murphy looked through the peepholes.

"It's like a scumbag yard sale," Connor said.

"We should come down here once a week and clean house," Murphy agreed.

Rocco ended up taking the other two guys, making up for groping the dancer. Sarah sat on a chair while Connor and Murphy pressed the buttons, diving to the side. She laughed softly at Rocco trying to be cool while shooting the two guys at the same time. Even going so far to cross his arms like a cowboy.

With them all dead Connor and Murphy handed out the pennies. They said their prayer. They took care of the bodies and left. When they were at the door, Rocco stopped.

"You guys gotta teach me that prayer," he said, taking his mask off and shaking out his hair. "That's some good shit, man."

"Cool it, Roc," Connor shot him down, taking his mask off as well. "It's a family prayer. My father's father before him. So that's our shit."

"Oh, c'mon," Rocco groaned.

"Sorry man," Sarah tapped his cheek.


	9. Chapter 8

Rocco found a coffee house that was open, even at 2 am. Sarah sipped the warm liquid gratefully, listening to Rocco as he talked about their new target.

"Worst night of my life when I met this guy," Rocco said. "The guy never says a fucking word to me. We're driving for 25 minutes. Never a sigh, no throat clearing, nothing. And his face – blank man. Just nothing there. This guy takes out a whole family – wife, kids, everyone – like he's ordering a fucking pizza. I knew if I didn't keep it together, it was my ass. He has a poker game out back of his place with a bunch of wise guys every Saturday. Worst day of my life, man."

"Well, I'm sold," Murphy said.

"Don't worry Roc," Connor said. "We'll do this guy right and you'll feel a lot better."

Sarah knew she would feel better knowing this man was dead. A man who could kill an entire family within minutes with no remorse did not deserve to live. She lifted her coffee mug in the air. The boys grinned and touched her mug with theirs.

* * *

The next shooting happened in a neighborhood. It was a slaughter, a firefight, and blood and guns were splattered and scattered all over the place, along with bullet holes.

"Okay," Smecker said. "Here's what happened..."

_They waited in a parked car down the street for the kid to leave._

They sat in a parked van, a ways down from the house. Murphy kept an eye for the kid to leave. The others slid bullets home, threading silencers while they waited.

"There he goes," Murphy turned back to face the others.

"Alright gentlemen," Sarah said, pulling her hair back into a thick braid, "are we ready to bring this man into the light? Are we ready to truly do the work of the Lord?"

"Amen," Connor nodded, cocking his pistol.

_They went in through the garage. The kid says he leaves it open when he takes his bike out._

They came to the garage, opening it all the way and sliding inside, slamming it shut. Once inside the garage, they opened their duffels, tugging on gloves and masks, making sure they have their guns.

_Now, they know the wife is the gate keeper. She knows the code. The wife says she doesn't know what happened after she hit the code, but judging from the burn mark on her back, I think they used a stun gun on her._

The boys got the wife to open the gate, stunning her after.

Then they waited for the guys on the inside to open the door.

_Now the guy knows a friend is coming to the game and they know that this door can only be opened from the inside. So they wait and when the door opens, man..._

The door opened and they burst in, guns drawn. Rocco said three words: "All of them", and the door shut.

_Nobody was ready for it. Devastation, panic! This was like shooting fish in a fucking barrel._

They rained bullets down on the men. Bottles shattering, cards flying, blood splattering.

_Now these guys dove under the table. The trajectory on the bullets show they came from straight across. So this means one of our shooters dropped to his knees..._

Rocco knelt down, following two men as they dove beneath the pool table.

With everyone dead, they took off their masks. Rocco looked at the bodies while the other three picked up the bullet casings.

"Shit!" Rocco shouted. "Shit! He ain't here."

"What the fuck do ya mean, he isn't here?" Murphy shouted.

"I mean he ain't here!"

"Look again, for fuck's sake!" Connor yelled.

"I know what the fuck he looks like!"

"Look out behind you!" Sarah shouted.

The door behind Rocco opened and a man stood there, towel rack in hand. Rocco reached in and shot the man in the gut, but he slammed the rack down on Rocco's hand. The door opened completely and the man jumped after Rocco. That must be him.

"Shoot this motherfucker!" Rocco shouted.

Sarah lifted up her gun and Murphy jumped in to help. Connor took the gun from Sarah and grabbed a hold of Murphy.

"No!" he yelled, "Fucking let the bloke go!"

The man tackled Rocco and started choking him. Sarah pulled away from Connor as hard as she could, trying to get to Rocco.

"Now's your chance to earn your stripes, Roc!" Connor egged him on.

"He'll fucking get killed!" Murphy pulled Connor, trying to get to Rocco as well.

"It was your idea to bring him in!" Connor pushed Murphy away from Rocco, keeping a careful hold of Sarah.

_One of these guys is a real sicko. He knew this man. He wanted him to suffer._

Sarah and Murphy looked at Connor with disbelief. Rocco was shouting from the floor. They shouted at him, encouraging him as much as they could. Sarah edged to the pool table. A man started to move, regaining consciousness. Connor took a step forward, turning his back on Murphy and Sarah, and shot him. Sarah took the cue ball from the pool table, threw it at Murphy, who rolled it to Rocco.

With the cue ball in hand, Rocco took the upper hand, beating in the man's face with it. When the man was dead, Rocco ran up to Connor, intent on beating him. Connor flipped him onto the pool table, holding him down.

"Now take a fucking deep breath there, Roc," Connor said, "You did fine! It was nicely done!" He put his hands on Rocco's mouth and kissed them.

Sarah picked up the cue ball, cleaned it off on her shirt, and placed it back on the table where Connor couldn't see. They put their sunglasses on, gathered the bags (filled with bullet casings, their masks, their silencers and the poker money) and came out the front door. Rocco in front, twins next, then Sarah.

_They exited out the front door. They had no idea what they were in for. Now they're staring at six men with guns drawn. It was fucking ambush._

They all stopped when they saw a man standing in the street. Grey hair, dark glasses and long coat. A cigar hanging from his lips. The man opened his coat and revealed a custom leather vest with six guns, all different types. Without thinking, the twins pulled out a gun each, pointing over Rocco's shoulders. Sarah pulled out her two guns, kicked Rocco to his knees and took aim over his head.

_This was fucking bob dropping on Beaver Cleaverville. For a few seconds, this place was Armageddon. There was a firefight!_

The bullets went flying, the ringing echoing in Sarah's ears. Rocco pulled out his own gun and started firing. He screamed and fell over. Sarah saw his finger flying in front of her face. Murphy shouted next, diving to the left, his arm bleeding. Sarah screeched and took a few steps forward, stepping in front of Connor, shooting with both guns at the man. No one dared hurt her brothers. Not on her watch. A stinging pain hit her in the side and she crumpled. She still shot as much as she could, screaming through the pain. The man ran down the street, six guns fallen on the road, blood on his arm. She stumbled up and hobbled to Connor. He was shot in the leg and limping.

In the haze of shouting and confusion, Connor and Murphy sprayed the blood with ammonia and Rocco picked up the bag. Connor and Murphy had their arms around Sarah and, broken and bleeding, they hobbled back to the van. They cut up Rocco's shirt, using it to tie off their wounds, and drove to Rocco's mom's place.

* * *

There was the ammonia on the blood. Smecker lost it completely. He'd never see anything like this before, he didn't know where to start or what to do. He was at a complete and utter loss. He fell into the bushes with anger and saw a splintered finger.

That was all he needed. He carefully picked it up with his glove and tucked it away.

Then he had to make the news and tell them how the investigation was going. They didn't really care about the investigation, not like he did. They just needed to know what was going on and whether the public was safe or not. Parasites. Smecker needed to get back to his house and analyze the fingerprint.

He put on his classical music and scanned the fingerprint, examining the police data.

"David Della Rocco…"

The man at the station! The one after the MacManus's came in with the Russians. He missed it. He missed the single largest clue to this investigation.

* * *

Murphy dragged Sarah into the kitchen. Connor slammed an iron onto the stove, turning on the burner. Sarah was dropped onto a chair, holding her side tightly. The boys were shouting at each other. Blaming each other, trying to get a grip on what happened. Fed up with their shouting, she jumped up and joined in, throwing a few punches in the mix.

When the iron was hot enough, they put Murphy across the table, his arm held out. Rocco was on him, a rag held tight in Murphy's mouth, and Sarah gripped his hand, lips pressed against his knuckles. Connor pressed the iron to Murphy's gunshot wound, cauterizing it brutally. Murphy thrashed in pain.

Sarah tied it with a clean bit of cloth. Rocco was next, Murphy holding the iron and Connor holding down Rocco; Sarah had his hands in hers, wincing at the pain. Murphy held onto Connor next and Rocco pushed the iron onto Connor's leg, Sarah holding his other leg still. The boys came to Sarah, setting her on her back, Connor holding down her legs, Murphy holding her arms. Rocco took the iron and pressed it to her side.

Sarah screamed through the rag in her mouth, biting on it until her jaw ached. Her eyes welled up with tears and she strained against her brothers. They held her tight. When it was done, they wrapped a clean cloth around her stomach. They cleaned off the blood from the counter and opened up a couple of beers each. Sarah was limp in the chair, the pain suffusing her body so much that not even the alcohol was doing much to help dull the pain.

Rocco turned on the TV, more out of habit than to actually watch it. A man stood there, talking about the investigation concerning the four of them. Paul Smecker.

"Fuck," Sarah hissed. Rocco looked at them, confusion written all over his face. Sarah sighed, "He's the guy that got us off with the Chekov thing."

"He's one smart man," Connor said.

"They got nothing," Rocco insisted.

"Well, this guy is very sharp," Connor continued shortly. "If he hasn't figured us out yet, he will."

"You bet your ass he will," Murphy muttered.

"Well I'd say that makes him a lia-fucking-bility," Rocco said.

"He isn't to be touched," Connor's voice meant no argument.

"He's a good man," Murphy nodded.

"Okay, whatever," Rocco rolled his eyes, not convinced.


	10. Chapter 9

The next morning, the three went to church. They sat in the back and knelt down in prayer. Sarah whispered her prayers, hoping that Ma was safe and sound and that she would be proud of them for what they've done. She didn't move as Connor stood up. She prayed for Da, whoever he was and wherever he could be. She's been praying for him since she could remember. The faceless man she never met.

She felt Murphy tap her shoulder and pull her up.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Connor and Rocco are up to some kinda shit," Murphy gestured to the confessional.

Paul Smecker floundered out of a confessional and stumbled out of the church. Sarah and Murphy glanced at each other, both of them lost. They walked up to where Connor and Rocco were stepping out.

"What the hell was that?" Sarah asked Connor as he stormed out of the building.

"Fucking Roc thought to threaten the good Father," Connor growled.

"Because of Smecker?" Sarah guessed, ignoring the fury concerning Rocco.

"C'mon," Connor tapped her shoulder, "we got a phone call to make."

A few hours later, they were making a phone call to Smecker, telling him all the details they could about the man who attacked them yesterday. Sarah pulled out a cigarette from the box Rocco had, lighting it and blowing smoke at Rocco's face. Tonight was Poppa Joe Yakavetta., right in his home. After this they were fleeing to New York. Things were getting too hot here in Boston.


	11. Chapter 10

It was another one of Connor's brilliant plans, except this one didn't work at all. They snuck in through the basement only to be ambushed. Poppa Joe had the entire mafia waiting for them. They all screamed and shouted as the mafia bore down on them, fighting back as hard as they could.

They were handcuffed to chairs, still getting beaten, until blood was running down their faces, they took no pity on Sarah for being a woman, if anything they were worse to her, tearing at her clothes until she was almost in rags. It only made Connor and Murphy more furious.

Poppa Joe shot off Rocco's other pinky. He thought Rocco was behind all this. Sarah blinked the blood from her eyes, screaming through the pain. The others were screaming too, the sound echoing in the small basement. The mobsters all left the little room and Sarah scooted her chair to Rocco.

"It's gonna be okay, you hear me?" she shouted. "It's going to be okay! It's going to be fine, you're okay, you're fine. It's okay!"

Poppa Joe walked back in slowly, gun raised. With a cold calculation, he shot Rocco in the chest. Rocco fell backwards, and Sarah and Murphy fell down next to him, screaming as blood and tears ran down their faces.

"You can't stop!" Rocco gasped. "You get out of here. Don't ever stop."

He stopped breathing and Sarah screeched like a banshee, pulling her hands against the cuffs until her wrists were bleeding. Murphy and Connor had a plan to get themselves free of the handcuffs. Sarah had her own plan, a much less painful one at that. She shifted herself until she could pull a bobby pin from her back pocket to pick at the handcuffs. She pulled the handcuffs off, running over only to see her brothers already free, Murphy's hand a bloody pulp. Sarah broke the chair she was sitting on, picked up the pointy remnants of the leg and grinned, blood dripping down her chin.

This was going to be her moment. She was going to avenge Rocco the best way she knew how. She nodded at her brothers and they gave her the same feral grin.

Free from the handcuffs, they lay in wait by the door. A man walked in. Sarah jumped on him, locking her arms around his neck and bringing him down, ramming the broken chair leg as far as she could in the guy's back. Connor and Murphy kicked him until the man stopped moving. Sighing with relief the boys took his guns.

They pulled up Rocco, placing pennies on his eyes. Sarah took their hands in hers, Murphy on her left and Connor on her right. Kneeling they began their prayer, their voices wavering.

"And shepherds we shall be, for Thee, my Lord, for Thee. Power hath descended forth from Thy hand – " they heard the click of a gun. As one, they turned; the boys had their guns pointing at the man there. It was the very man who ambushed them before. Sarah tightened her grip on their hands.

He took a few steps forward and spoke.

"That our feet my swiftly carry out Thy command. We will flow a river forth unto Thee and teeming with souls shall it ever be. In nomine patri et filli et spiritus sanc."

He made the sign of the cross over Rocco. This was their father. It had to be. No one else knew the prayer. They put their guns down. He reached forward and touched their cheeks, looking at each of them in turn. Sarah looked at his worn face, unbelief and the faintest glimmer of hope coursing through her body.

"Father," Sarah whispered, unable to keep the emotion from her voice.

"Connor. Murphy," the man said, looking at each boy in turn before turning to face her. "And Sarah."

"How...?"

"You didn't think your Ma wouldn't tell me the news? I was in prison, not dead."

Sarah hiccupped. Connor and Murphy glanced at her worriedly.

"My beautiful children," the man, their father, said.

Sarah squeezed her brothers' hands and gave the smallest smile.


	12. Chapter 11

They spent three months running around the east coast. They hunted every bit of Poppa Joe they could find. Destroyed his Mafia the best they could, taking out any drug dealers or pimps on the side. They kept in contact with the detectives in Boston, with Smecker, feeding information about Poppa Joe.

It was twelve weeks of learning how to work with their father, of telling stories and building trust. Da learned quickly not to underestimate Sarah when they came across a rapist in Philadelphia. She took him out single handedly and left a message to the other rapists in the city. That's when shit hit the fan.

Three days later Sarah was taken.

She just wanted to pop by the gas station and buy a pack of smokes and maybe a case of beer for the night. The twins started getting antsy when Sarah didn't come back in three hours. By that evening, they were completely frantic.

The two of them paced the motel floor, picking up guns and putting them back down. They reached for the door then turned and walked to the window. They wouldn't sit down and listen to reason. Da tried hard to keep them back, keep them sane, but they would not be calmed.

"We'll get her back in one piece," Da said as the boys started to clean their guns obsessively.

"You fucking don't understand," Murphy snapped. "You weren't there for her. We fucking were. She's our baby sister. It's our job to look after her and fucking take care of her. We promised Ma that we'd keep her safe and we fucked it up. The only thing we can do is find her as fast as fucking possible."

"We don't even know where to start," Da tried.

"Doesn't matter!" Murphy shouted. "We have to get her!"

Da turned to Connor.

"We have to," Connor said, resignedly. "She's our sister. We can't leave her."

"We won't," Da said.

"No, we won't," Murphy's voice grew cold. "We're gonna go find her. You might be our father by blood, but you ain't our father if you won't help Sarah now." He grabbed his duffel and stormed out.

Da looked over at Connor. His son just looked down and followed his twin outside. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the closed door. He knew he shouldn't blame himself for this, but he couldn't help feeling that if hadn't left, that if he'd just stayed with his wife, then his kids would've turned out better.

Murphy was right though. He hadn't been there for his children when they needed him. They had to rely on each other for everything. With a heavy sigh, he stood up and followed his sons out the door.

They found Sarah, handcuffed to a chair in the basement of a nondescript house. Apparently, that rapist she killed had a few buddies who weren't very happy with her. They'd kidnapped her and kept her locked up, debating on what to do.

It was a good thing that the boys showed up when they did. A few of the men there decided to give Sarah some good old-fashioned karma. Their pants were down and Sarah's clothes were on the floor when the boys broke through the door.

They don't really remember much after that. They remember pure, white-hot rage flooding their bodies. They remember shouting and shooting until the men were little more than blood smears on the floor. Then Da came in and picked up Sarah, carrying her out of the house, whispering quietly in her hair as he took her back to the motel.

Connor and Murphy didn't even bother to ritualize the bodies they killed. As far as they were concerned, these men deserved every bit of pain and suffering waiting for them. They ran back to the motel as fast as they could, wiping blood from their faces, hands still trembling with anger.

Sarah refused to talk about what happened in the basement for weeks. Every night she woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for breath, but wouldn't tell her brothers what was wrong. She wouldn't walk around alone anymore. Even if it was just across the street, she always needed someone next to her. The boys asked their father what was wrong with her, what they could do to help. He said to just wait it out.

It was a hard few weeks. Sarah wouldn't speak unless spoken to and wouldn't eat until they begged her to. The only thing she did was drink and smoke. She didn't go out with them anymore, not even when they found a small drug operation to take down. The twins had never felt so useless. They couldn't help their little sister. They knew that this was a battle she needed to fight on her own, but they didn't like it. Connor and Murphy had been there for her since she was born, keeping an eye on her and protecting her. In some way, they feel as though they had failed. It wasn't until they were in New York that she broke down.

Connor and Murphy weren't even there for most of it. They were calling Smecker from a payphone, telling him all the information they had. When they came back to their little hotel room, Sarah was wrapped up in a blanket, tears streaming down her face as she haltingly told their father what happened to her.

"You must think I'm pathetic," she laughed, wiping at her tears. "Can't even get kidnapped properly."

"Oh no, my dear," Da pulled her in for a hug. "You have been so very strong."

"Sorry," Sarah gave a watery grin to her brothers.

"You got nothing to be fucking sorry for," Murphy said.

"You don't ever have to be sorry for what happened to you," Connor agreed.

That brought a new round of tears from Sarah. Connor and Murphy hurriedly came forward, putting their arms around their little sister and holding her close. For the first time since Rocco's death, they felt like a real family.

Four days later, they were back in Boston, waiting for the trial of Poppa Joe Yakavetta.


	13. Chapter 12

Using their friends in the police station the four of them got into the courthouse. Greenly and Duffy picked them up in the back of police van, Smecker got them in through the door. They tossed their guns over the metal detector and walked with determination.

They stood outside the door, bracing themselves for this moment. Sunglasses off, they were completely exposed. This was their moment. With a curt nod, they charged in.

Everyone in the room screamed. The boys were pushing everyone to the back while Sarah was pulling down Poppa Joe on his knees in the front. Sarah held a gun to his head while Da grabbed the judge, forcing him to the back. Connor had the guards drop their guns and Murphy got the cameras turned off.

"You people have been chosen," Da said, "to reveal our existence to the world. You will witness what happens here today and you will tell of it later. All eyes to the front."

"Now's a good time to fucking – " Yakavetta started.

"Shut your fucking mouth!" Murphy kicked him.

Da came up to Poppa Joe, shotgun pointed to his head. The fire alarm went off (thank you Dolly!). Murphy, Sarah, and Connor jumped up on the tables, giving their speech, guns pointed to the audience.

"Now you will receive us," Connor started.

"We do not ask for your poor or your hungry," Murphy continued.

"We do not want your tired and sick," Sarah said.

"It is your corrupt we claim," Murphy grinned.

"It is your evil that will be sought by us," Connor roared.

"With every breath we shall hunt them down," Sarah tossed her hair back.

"Each day we will spill their blood 'til it rains down from the skies," Connor shook his gun with emotion.

"Do not kill, do not rape, do not steal! These are principles which every man of every faith can embrace," Murphy shouted.

"These are not polite suggestions!" Sarah took an extra step forward. "These are codes of behavior, and those of you that ignore them will pay the dearest cost."

"There are varying degrees of evil," Murphy said. "We urge you lesser forms of filth not to push the bounds and cross over into true corruption, into our domain."

"For if you do, one day you will look behind you and you will see we four. And on that day you will reap it!" Connor exclaimed.

"And we will send you to whatever God you wish," Sarah finished.

They jumped down and took their places by Poppa Joe, Murphy and Sarah on Da's right, Connor to his left. Weapons raised, they spoke in unison:

"And shepherds we shall be, for Thee, my Lord, for Thee. Power hath descended forth from thy hand, that our feet my swiftly carry out Thy command. So we shall flow a river forth to thee and teeming with souls shall it ever be."

"In nomine patri-" Da started.

"-et filli-" the boys said together.

"-et spiritus sancti," Sarah finished.

* * *

Connor and Murphy were spread out over two beds in a dingy motel room. Da was sitting in the chair. Sarah looking out the window.

"How far are we gonna take this, Da?" Connor asked nervously.

Sarah turned around, the light haloing her hair.

"The question is not how far," Da said, "The question is; do you posses the constitution, the depth of faith, to go as far as is needed?"

* * *

_And that's the first movie done! I'm sorry about the hiatus. I wasn't sure if I wanted to put more of Smecker's perspective in this or not and I wasn't going anywhere, so I decided not._


End file.
